Ready, Amy, Fire
by Adventurelife
Summary: Even though Amy has made her way onto the A-Team, but she still has a lot to learn. Thankfully the team is ready to teach her the finer points of being a part of the A-Team. She's got the jazz and is ready to learn.
1. PunchLessons

Amy glared at her bruised knuckles before turning her attention to the television. If the guys saw her now she was sure they'd give her a lecture on how to properly punch a guy. She grabbed the ice pack and laid it on her swollen left eye. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to punch a guy, even if he was getting handsy. She shook her head, no, she didn't regret the punch, though she wished her eye and hand weren't aching so bad.

The ever annoying sound of the phone jerked her attention from her show. She hoped it wasn't the newspaper, she'd already called in sick and she didn't feel like explaining that she'd done her utmost to deck her main lead on an investigation.

"Amy Allen." Her tone was brisk, she was in no mood to be polite.

"Gas leak at my place." B.A.'s voice broke over the line. "Mind, letting me crash at your place?" His voice was stiff and Amy could tell he didn't like imposing on her.

"Face have someone over? What about Murdock, he has a spare bed?"

"Yeh, Faceman is busy. And I ain't staying with that crazy fool!"

"And Hannibal is probably making some movie." Amy held back a sigh. "Alright. You can lay low at my place. Just leave the van where the MPs can't trace you here. And don't worry, I just bought milk."

"Thanks, little mamma."

Amy sighed and hung up the phone. She really wasn't ready to explain her swollen eye and bruised knuckles. Maybe some makeup would help, she scurried to the bathroom and tried to cover up the black and purple stains around her left eye. It hurt to cover up the nasty looking eye as well as her knuckles. She just hoped B.A. didn't notice it, she didn't want to make up some grand excuse.

A half hour later had Amy answering her door to a grinning B.A. She smiled and winced subtly. Smiling even hurt, vaguely she remembered getting thrown against a wall. Her back was probably a mass of bruises.

"Hey, B.A." She ushered him inside and locked the door behind him.

"Thanks for letting me crash here." B.A. placed a black bag beside her couch.

"No, problem. Couldn't just let you crash at a motel. Don't want you getting into trouble."

"Least I can do is make supper. You hungry, triple A?"

"I could stand to eat." She shuffled over to the couch and gingerly sat down. Everything was aching.

She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but when she woke there was a comforting smell coming from the kitchen. It took her a moment to remember that B.A. was going to be hanging around for the next few days.

"Something smells good, B.A."

"My Mama's fried chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes."

"I think I have some sweet tea in the fridge." Amy smiled. "One of my aunts is from the South."

The pair settled into an easy silence as they chowed down on the very southern meal. Amy felt relief flood through her as B.A. didn't seem to notice how puffy her eye and hand looked. Her makeup seemed to have been a life saver. It wasn't until later that the subject was broached.

"Need some ice on that eye."

Amy jerked in her seat. The two of them had settled in to watch a football game and she'd been caught off guard by his comment.

"What?"

"Your eye. Ain't gonna' heal quick if you don't put no ice on it." B.A. stood and collected the ice pack that was shoved under the edge of the couch.

"Should have known you'd notice." Amy huffed and crossed her arms. She suddenly felt a bit petulant.

"Better wash that makeup off."

Amy rolled her eyes and dutifully stood to wash her hand and eye. A sigh escaped her, of course one of the team would see past the makeup and notice she was hurt.

"How'd you swing?" B.A. handed her the pack to cover her eye.

"Huh?" Amy blinked at him as the cold hit her eye. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you use an uppercut or a side hit?" B.A. demonstrated lazily.

"Straight. I hit him directly. No uppercut or sidecut...All I know is that my knuckles, eye and back aren't happy with me."

"Let me wrap your hand." His tone brooked no argument.

"It's not like I could tell you no." Amy grumbled, handing B.A. her battered hand. "Are you always this stubborn?"

"Only when part of the team starts acting like fools," he grunted and began cleaning the broken skin around her knuckles. At some point he'd grabbed a first aid kit.

"And it looks like the whole team carries those things in their pockets."

"Never know when you need one sista."

"Sister?" Amy flinched as antiseptic hit her knuckles.

"You're part of the team. Can't call you brother." He snickered and finished wrapping her hand.

"So it's either, "sister" or "triple A?"

"That's about it." He grinned at her. "Now, let me put some salve on your eye."

Reluctantly she let him start doctoring her swollen eye. She let his name for her sink in. Sometimes she forgot what being a part of the team meant. It was times like this that reminded her who had her back.

"Thanks B.A." Amy watched him finish up on her eye.

"I got your back little sista… We all do." He leaned back to look at her sternly. "You snuck into the team. Means we have to watch out for one another. What happened?"

"Uh…"

"I can call Hannibal."

"Low threat."

"I was following a lead last night."

"Alone?"

"Of course. I'm not completely helpless B.A."

"Shoulda' called one of us." He sent her an angry glare.

"I can't run to you guys all the time. I've been doing this kind of thing for a long time. It's fine."

"What if they'd had a knife?"

"Well they didn't."

"Next time you might not be so lucky."

"Don't be so negative."

"We need to talk about your fighting." B.A. tugged her to her feet.

"When I said you could crash here I wasn't planning on a fighting lesson."

"You're getting one." The man growled at her. "Now put your fists up."

"Alright! Alright!" Amy put her fists up in the air.

"No. You want to have one up far enough to guard your face. Tuck your chin a little. Now lead with your strongest hand and guard with your other. You're small… so you'll need to stay light on your feet."

"I don't know if we should be fighting in my living room…"

"No better place." He grinned. "Get ready to block."

Amy barely dodged a gold clad fist. Her eyes widened in surprise, B.A. was being serious.

"B.A.!"

"You made a good point Amy. We ain't always gonna be around to take our threats. You got to be ready." He swung again. "Get your guard up!"

"Fine!" Amy raised her arm and managed to deflect a minimized strike by her sparring partner. Gaining a bit of courage she aimed a punch at his gut.

"Ouch! Why do you have to wear so much gold!?" Amy cradled her bandaged hand.

"Sorry, come on. I'll get more ice."

"So much for a fighting lesson."

"When your hand is healed up… meet me at this address." B.A. tugged a tattered business card from a pocket.

"I don't know."

"Be there. Or Hannibal will be the one teaching you. Don't want him on the jazz and teaching you to fight." He grinned.

"Fine. Not a word to the rest of the team though."

"Best start workin' out little mamma. I won't go easy on you."

"Come on B.A. you're twice as big as me."

"Better work twice as hard then." He sent her a teasing glare.

"Just watch the game." She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. The things she got herself into never ceased to amaze her.

 _Two weeks later_

The bruises and soreness were finally gone. However, Amy wasn't sure the absence was a good thing. She tugged her hair back into a tight ponytail and adjusted the tank top she'd found abandoned in the recesses of her forgotten gym bag.

The "gym" turned out to be in a seedy looking building. She felt exposed in the dank building, the lights flickered at random times and the few guys hanging around looked to be cons or prize fighters. A lump formed in her throat as she tugged at the shorts she'd chose to wear.

"Ready to fight?"

The sound of B.A.'s voice caused Amy to jump.

"Don't do that B.A.!"

"Got to be ready for everything." He scowled. "You got a lot to learn. Come on." He stalked off towards a boxing ring.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this…"

"No escape sucka'." He barked like a drill sergeant.

"At least you aren't making me run laps," Amy let the sarcasm fall from her lips.

"Not a bad idea. You need to get in shape." B.A. turned with a glare that made ice grow in her blood.

"I was just kidding!"

"Let's go."

Amy knew better than to argue, so she let B.A. drag her to the van and the pair drove to a secluded running track.

"We'll start with twenty laps."

"You're going to kill me."

"This will keep you alive, now move." He growled.

"Okay! Okay. I'm moving. Give a lady time!"

"Move sucka'!"

Amy regretted letting B.A. crash at her place by the second week of training. It was painful, sweaty and she was sure her body was making imaginary muscles hurt.

She had nearly gave up when B.A. made her start lifting weights. He'd growled and glared at her until her stubbornness has reared its head. She was in it to show them all that she could take care of herself.

Amy glanced in the mirror with a grin of satisfaction. Her arms were showing the fruits of her training with B.A. She threw a few items into a suitcase and locked the door behind her. Finally, the guys needed her on a mission. She was ready for a bit of the jazz.

"Hey, guys! Where are we headed?"

"Buenos Aires." Face grinned.

"I, Guapo Diaz shall act as your guide! Want a nacho senorita!"

"Fool's eatin' imaginary food again, Hannibal!"

"Careful Murdock, you know B.A. doesn't like stains in the van." Face winked at Amy. "You should try the salsa. It's good… reminds me of Juanita."

"I'm sure it does Face." She shook her head and glanced at B.A.

"I ain't gettin' on no plane, Hannibal!"

The van came to a screeching halt. Amy sighed and fumbled in her purse for her dose of B.A.'s sleeping juice. Quietly, she passed it to Murdock and motioned for him to do the honors. She leaned back and closed her eyes, she was ready for another round with the jazz.

It wasn't until the mission was nearly over that Amy had a chance to show off her new moves. The guys had managed to get themselves locked up and she had taken it upon herself to free them. She snuck into the main office and snatched a uniform. Hannibal had been skeptical about her dressing like a local peasant, but she had argued that the last thing she needed was to be spotted with him.

She'd had a feeling the guys would be captured and it turned out that her instinct had served her well once again. Her luck was holding out so she stripped from her peasant clothes and slipped on the uniform. A grin stole across her face, it was the best size to disguise her frame and it wouldn't fall off. With a tug and the use of a band she made a flat bun on the top of her head and grabbed bobby pins tucked on the laces of her shoes. Still smiling she slipped the officer's cap onto her head and slunk out of the office.

The jazz was thumping through her veins like an addictive mantra. She slipped past another guard and lazily lifted the gun from him and darted off silently. Watching Face play the role of pickpocket had helped her in her quest. Lazily she slipped towards the cells and deftly knocked the guard out.. Keeping her head down she turned the key to the cell door and swung it open. The guys looked a little worse for wear but mostly intact.

"Come on. Do I have to do everything around here?"

"Nice going kid." Hannibal grinned as he filed out with the others.

"Guards should be coming any minute Hannibal. We better split muchachos!" Murdock chimed in.

"This way!" Amy grinned, "There's a helicopter out back, spotted it when I came in."

"We need some weapons." Face glanced at her gun.

"This one is mine. Don't worry Face, there's a small armory in the station. These policemen don't seem to be the most law abiding of people."

"Let's move!"

The trip outside was uneventful and Amy heard the blood rushing into her ears. As she helped buckle in an unconscious B.A. she couldn't help but feel satisfied with a job well done. All her training had paid off. Even if the guys never let her get into the most dangerous part of the missions, at least they now really knew how capable she was at handling herself. She was glad to be part of the A-team.


	2. TradingFaces

Amy had always been a confident individual; however, she wasn't one to overestimate her own abilities. Being a part of the A-team had her understanding the importance of knowing one's strengths and weaknesses. There were several things that Amy was sure of. One, that she was a good reporter. Two, she was not a Hannibal Smith. The latter fact had become glaringly clear on her latest reporting endeavor.She slammed a hand against her car dash. Why couldn't she be more like one of the guys? Confident in their abilities and able to get into any place. Sighing she let her head fall against the headrest.

Although she loved working with the guys she sometimes found herself envying their lives. True, she didn't envy the constant dodging of the military police, but sometimes she just wanted a break from the mundane interviewing jobs. A dull throb pressed behind her eyes threatening to shove her eyes out of her skull. Sometimes she wondered if she had made a huge mistake by choosing to be a reporter. She could have been a model, maybe not a widely successful model, but she'd had offers. Angrily, she tore out of her car and stomped inside to her apartment. Some days she was sure being a waitress would be preferable to the life of a female reporter. She'd been naive to think that a male dominated job would be a walk in the park.

Maybe working with the guys had boosted her confidence to unrealistic levels; however, she'd always been a confident person. Anger surged through her again as her recently botched interview flitted through her mind. Lester Hogan had ripped it out from under her, simply because he was a male reporter and to top it all he had been a rival reporter from her own newspaper. Jaw ticking she contemplated how the guys would have handled it. A smirk crawled across her face as she thought of the team being forced into a sexist situation. B.A. would have taken nothing from the stupid reporter. She imagined B.A. pounding Hogan into the ground. It was a satisfying thought, but it didn't solve her problem. With a heavy sigh Amy tossed her purse onto the couch and gathered the makings for a hot bubble bath. The haggard reporter needed something to take the edge off of her temper. An hour in a steaming bath, a glass of hot tea, her favorite music, and some chocolate. That should do the trick.

"I don't like it, Hannibal. Amy always answers the phone. How many times did you call her?"

"That's the eighth call and she didn't answer her phone at work."

"Yeah and she missed the final match in our chinese checker tournament!" Murdock piped in with clear worry in his voice.

"I'm sure Amy's fine. B.A. drop me by Amalfi's on the way to Amy's, I've got a date at seven."

"I thought Cheryl cancelled on you Faceyman?"

"No, she didn't cancel. Cheryl happens to have an important job that requires…"

"Can it. We know she ain't no singer or nothin', she's just a model." B.A. snickered, "She definitely ain't that talented. Sings like a dead bird."

"I sense the birth of the next great work of fiction. The Faceman of the Opera, a tragic love story where a young, impressionable artist, Templeton finds himself enraptured by the vocally disfigured female." Murdock tone grew musical and tapered off into an over dramatic rendition of one of his favorite musical pieces.

"That's not even an opera piece! That's a song by the Beatles!" Face shouted and shoved Murdock lightly.

"Both of you shut your mouths!" B.A. shook his head. "Bunch of crazy fools. Always crazy fools messin' around in my van. Don't you start, Hannibal. Better not encourage them."

"Wouldn't think of it. Just drop me off at Amy's and then you can dump them."

"You must embrace your inner tragedy!"

"Hannibal! He's trying to fit me for a Phantom of the Opera mask. Get him off of me!"

"You better stop Murdock, or I'll be fittin' you for a coffin!" B.A. growled.

"Fine, you angry mudsucker! You can be the villain that hunts the tortured soul that is," Murdock gulped in a breath for dramatic flare, "The Faceman of the Opera."

"B.A. drop me out back, I'll get in her apartment through the fire escape," Hannibal patted his pocket. "In case there's trouble."

"Sure thing, Hannibal." The van driver pulled the faithful vehicle to a halt behind Amy's apartment building and let the A-team leader out.

The sound of a creaking window jerked Amy out of her peaceful sleep and she sent her empty glass of tea onto the bathroom floor. With a scowl she felt her lulled migraine roar to life again. As silently as she could she slipped from the bathtub, toweled off and threw on her clothes. Someone was in her apartment, instinct urging her on, she grabbed the gun from under her bathroom sink… another trick the team had taught her. "Always stash some goodies." Murdock's voice singsonged in the back of her mind. Carefully she turned off the safety and tiptoed to the bathroom door and flung the door open, right into Hannibal's face. The whitehaired man stumbled backwards and managed to keep himself from falling.

"What are you doing here!?" Amy felt her anger rising again. So much for a soothing bath.

"Trying to see if you were alive." Hannibal rubbed his aching jaw. "Good instinct, kid. Put that thing away though."

"Fine, but as you can see I am perfectly fine."

"We didn't know that. We've been calling you for the past two hours." He lit a cigar and watched her stomp back into the bathroom and store the gun.

"And it didn't occur to you that I might be taking a bath?"

"For two hours?"

"Is there something against a long bath?"

"Want to tell me about it?"

"About what?" Amy jerked a towel from behind the bathroom door and twisted her hair into it angrily.

"Whatever has you taking a two hour bath...and not answering the phone."

"You think you're so smart." Amy felt the need to slap Hannibal rise.

"Look kid, you're part of the team. That means, what affects one of us affects all of us." He poured himself a drink and settled onto the couch.

"A sleazy reporter from the paper stole an interview out from under me. Lester Hogan." Amy sent Hannibal a hard glare. "He's from the same paper! I could have done twice the job he did. I'll probably get my head chewed off for not getting the information for the article. You know sometimes I think men have it too easy."

"Sorry about that kid."

Amy crossed her arms and kept her famous Allen glare focused on her uninvited guest. Suddenly the all too familiar jazz-light came on in Hannibal's eyes.

"Before you say anything, the answer is no. I don't have time for the jazz. I've got to figure out how I'm going to get a better interview to crush that slimeball!"

"How about you walk a mile in some men's oxfords?" Hannibal slapped his hands together with a jazzed grin.

"Hannibal...No."

"Ms. Allen, I believe it's time I teach you the fine art of a disguise."

It took a few lessons from Hannibal, but Amy's practice with a woman's makeup brush had provided her with the ground skills of a budding con-artist. Hannibal himself had been pleasantly surprised to find that Amy was taken to disguises like Murdock to crazy. Her first test had come when Hannibal challenged her to get the inside scoop from a known mobster. She'd tried to bargain for his help in disguising herself, but he had refused. It took her two ours; however, the time was well spent.If Hannibal hadn't seen her disappear into her bathroom he never would have recognized her.

The lanky form of the brunette reporter had been transformed into a flat-chested, arrogant looking young man with short black hair, and a convincing five-o-clock shadow. Her wardrobe now consisted of a sleek black leather jacket, faded jeans, a dark blue polo, a pair of beat up black sneakers, and black aviators. She looked every bit the trouble making punk.

"Very nice." Hannibal grinned. "Don't forget to swagger when you walk. You have your gun?"

"Right here."Amy's voice came out rough, just like she'd practiced.

"Good. Get in and get your information. I'll have B.A. waiting to drop you a couple blocks from the paper."

"Thanks, Hannibal."

"Sure, Kid." He winked. "Knock 'em dead."

A few weeks later and the headlines in the paper would read about a takedown made by the local police and an interview with a major drug kingpin...by one Amy Allen.


End file.
